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About Auckland

Happy, I was, when a pal told me—escort gigs saved his bacon once. Truck broke down, middle of nowhere, escort rolled up, fixed his radio, towed him out. “What we don’t say defines us,” Polley’d whisper—escort’s like that, silent heroes or shady ghosts. Surprised, yah, when I learned—escort comes from old French, “escorte,” armed crew marchin’ along. Badass, right? Not just a pretty face trailin’ ya!

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I rolled outta bed, bleary-eyed, and hit the streets. Matamata’s got this chill vibe, ya know? The sun was shining, and I thought, “Sweet, today’s gonna be a breeze.” But nah, life had other plans. I grabbed a coffee from the local café on Broadway. Best flat white in town, no joke. But the barista? She was all smiles until I spilled half of it on my shirt. Classic me, right? I was like, “Great, now I look like a walking coffee stain.”

Matamata Saturday for Mark